No Rest for the Wicked
by syfygal
Summary: Sam's hallucinations of Lucifer are blurring the line of reality, and lack of sleep turns a simple hunt into a disaster. Badly injured with his mind refusing to shut down so he can heal, it's down to Dean and Bobby to figure out how to help him before the sleep deprivation kills him…But the wicked are like the raging sea, that cannot rest; Whose water cometh with the mire & dirt.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW – I'm just borrowing the boys for a play date. I'll put them back, I swear…

 **Genre:** Hurt/Comfort & Horror

 **Rated:** M+

 **Timeline:** S7, slot it in anywhere before Bobby's death

 **Features Hurt/Limp/Traumatised Sam, Protective/Worried/Scared Dean and Gruff/Loveable Bobby.**

 **No Rest for the Wicked**

 _But the wicked are like the raging sea, that cannot rest;_

 _Whose water cometh with the mire and dirt._

 _ **-Isaiah 57:20**_

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **SINGER SALVAGE YARD**

 _ **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

 **Day One**

Sleepless nights were not uncommon for Sam Winchester. He was reaching the big Three-O and he had already died several times, spent an insurmountable time locked up in The Cage with Lucifer and had his soul rammed back into his body by Death himself. Insomnia was a given, especially with the Devil popping up every now and then to offer his unwanted advice…or to pester the _fuck_ out of him.

It had just gone 2am and Sam was staring up at the ceiling of Bobby's spare room. The deep and even breaths coming from the other bed told him that Dean was well and truly out and would probably sleep through a hurricane.

The reason for his insomnia varied on a nightly basis –from memories of being locked in The Cage to his overwhelming guilt for the damage he had caused while he was without a soul, but usually he got so beyond exhausted that he would eventually fall asleep and grab enough hours to keep him functioning.

Tonight, it was Lucifer, straddling a chair in the corner of the room and playing with the switch on a flash light. _On, off, on, off, on, off, on, off_ for hours and fucking _hours._

' _I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts,  
There they are, all standing in a row  
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head  
Give them a twist a flick of the wrist  
That's what the showman said…_

 _I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts  
Every ball you throw will make me rich  
There stands my wife, the idol of me life  
Singing roll a bowl a ball a penny a pitch…'_

Then there was _that._ The same two verses, from the same song _at least_ a thousand times since the light went out.

He was about to lose his shit.

'Shut _up_ ,' he ground out through clenched teeth, gripping the edge of his mattress in a vain attempt to regain some sanity.

'Aww c'mom Sammy! I'm so _bored!_ I've been sitting here for hours and you've barely said two words to me! Don't you know it's rude to ignore your houseguests?' He replied with a pout.

When Sam was first made aware of Lucifer's _actual_ existence, he never imagined that the devil would be such a whiny pain in the ass.

'Well, nobody invited you – so you can leave anytime you like.' Sam grumbled, rolling over to escape…only to find Lucifer inches away from his face, chin resting on the bed.

He jumped back with a curse, earning a grin from the vessel.

'I know! We can take the Impala out for a spin! I wanna see what that baby can do!'

Sam groaned out loud and pushed his face into the pillow. Maybe if he suffocated, he could finally get away from the prick.

It was going to be a _long_ night…

* * *

Dean was just settling down to his morning coffee, when Sam emerged; eyes bloodshot and glassy, his too-long hair a dishevelled mess. He took a sip of his drink and ran a critical eye over his younger brother, a stone of dread settling in his gut.

'Dude, did you get _any_ sleep last night?' He asked, handing Sam the second cup he'd prepared.

Sam shook his head mutely, sat down at the table and took a mouthful of coffee, wincing at the burn.

The elder Winchester joined him, still running a health assessment with his eyes. The only thing he knew for sure was, the kid wasn't looking so hot.

'Anything that I should worry about?' He asked gruffly, though not unkindly.

Sam yawned widely and leant forward to rest his head on the table.

'Lucifer. About a thousand verses of 'I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts' and a request to take the Impala for a joyride…' He mumbled.

Dean scowled. 'You didn't, did you?'

The younger man shot him a glare and scoffed. 'Yeah, I'm going to take my hallucination of Satan for a spin in your ride. I'm not insane man,'

'Just checkin' buddy…you've had a few screws come loose lately. Seriously though, what a dick. Monty Python and the Holy Grail?'

'Yeah. One thousand, four hundred and eighty two verses.'

'You counted?'

Sam just shrugged. _What else was I supposed to do?_

There was an uncomfortable silence, then: 'Where's Bobby?'

'In town, picking up some supplies. How about I give him a call and get him to swing by the pharmacy to grab something to help you sleep. You were awake for a whole year, can't really pull that again huh?' Dean suggested, thumping him on the shoulder as he stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sam just grunted – at this point, he was willing to give anything a shot, although he doubted it would work.

Finishing the rest of his coffee, Sam stood and stretched until he felt his joints pop before joining Dean on the porch.

He wound up his conversation with the elder Hunter and flicked his phone shut, stuffing it in his jacket pocket with a growl.

'Bobby's got us a hunt,' he stated with some annoyance. Usually, being idle didn't sit well with the older Winchester – but with the wall in Sam's mind obliterated and given the shit they had been through over the last few weeks regarding the Leviathan scourge, taking a well-earned holiday sounded awfully tempting.

'What do we have?' Sam asked, leaning backwards against the railing so the harsh sunlight didn't exacerbate his already pounding head.

'The Hotel Alex Johnson, in Rapid City. They've had poltergeist activity there for a while now, but it looks like the sonuva bitch has upped its game. A guest was thrown through a window on the eighth floor three days ago, died on impact.'

Sam winced – he hated Poltergeists. They seemed to be magnetised to him in particular and being thrown out of a window was not on his list of things to try.

'When do we leave?' He asked through a wide yawn.

His brother eyed him dubiously, an eyebrow raised. 'You can sit this one out, dude. It's a simple vengeful spirit activity – nothing I can't handle on my own.'

The younger shook his head. 'Not a chance, Dean. Dad drilled it into us practically on a daily basis. Poltergeists are unpredictable and nasty mothers, you need someone to watch your back. So when do we leave?'

Dean growled. 'Sammy, you haven't slept – so you won't be the top of your game…not to mention the fact that you seem to have a massive 'throw-me-around' target strapped to your ass. Last thing you need after everything is to be thrown out a window by Casper the not-so-friendly ghost.'

Sam held his brother's gaze, determined not to back down from this fight.

'Great. When do we leave?'

The shorter man threw his arms up in frustration, before heading inside. 'Fine! But your Sasquatch ass is packing the car. We haul ass in half an hour, so move it buddy.'

'Oh goody! A road trip!' Came Lucifer's voice from beside him.

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _Fan-fucking-tastic._

* * *

' _We're Knights of the Round Table.  
We dance whene'er we're able.  
We do routines and chorus scenes;  
with footwork impeccable.  
We dine well here in Camelot.  
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.  
We're Knights of the Round Table.  
Our shows are formidable;  
but many times we're given rhymes  
that are quite unsingable.  
We're opera mad in Camelot.  
We sing from the diaphragm a lot._

In war we're tough and able;  
quite indefatigable.  
Between our quests we sequin vests and impersonate Clark Gable.  
It's a busy life in Camelot.

 _I have to push the pram a lot.'_

Sam groaned, thudding his head against the passenger side window as Lucifer continued his one-man Monty Python Musical Show; bouncing in the back seat of the Impala and conducting an unseen choir with his fingers.

'Bro, how you doin' over there?' Dean asked, his eyes flicking from the road to check on his brother, who had been pressing his hands to his ears for most of the ride.

'Jesus, Dean – I can't get him to _shut the fuck up_ ,' the younger man groaned miserably, feeling like his brain was trickling out of his ears.

'Lucy?'

Sam grunted his affirmation, and pressed his hands tighter in an attempt to block out the shrill singing.

'More Monty Python?'

Another grunt.

'Dude, that sucks.' Dean stated, eyes back on the road. 'Well, you tell that evil douche-bag to shut his pie hole.'

Sighing, Sam turned to peer in the backseat and rolled his eyes. 'Just poked his tongue out at you.' He said dryly.

The older hunter snorted, not quite believing how much of a child Sam's hallucination was as he steered the car off the highway. 'Have you tried digging your thumb into that scar? Pain usually shorts him out for a while.' He suggested.

'Doesn't work anymore.' Was the clipped response.

Brow furrowed, Dean considered their options. If his brother didn't have a way to dispel the hallucinations for long enough to get some rest, the kid was gonna burn out fast and hard. He knew what sleep deprivation could do and soon, everything would go to shit. Sammy would eventually fall into full blown psychosis before his body completely shut down on him. He wasn't even sure that sedation would work given the supernatural nature of the problem.

Pulling up outside the first motel he saw, the elder booked them a room for the night and grabbed their duffels from the trunk. 'Why don't you hit the shower, Gigantor? I'll get us some grub. What do you want?' Dean asked, dumping their bags on the closest bed.

'Not hungry.' Sam responded, massaging his temples before plugging his laptop in and setting it up on the small dining table.

'Not negotiable. I'll make sure it's light – coffee?'

'Double shot.'

'You gonna be ok with your bunk buddy while I'm gone?' Something in Dean's tone changed, reminding the younger sibling of a time when they were more brothers than partners and he almost smiled, but the sound of Lucifer pretending to retch in the wastepaper basket only caused him to scowl as he booted up the internet.

'I'll be fine. Just don't be long.'

The door closed quietly and Sam's research began, but it was terribly difficult to concentrate on the old newspaper articles with Satan jumping on the bed.

* * *

After using what was left of the daylight to formulate their plan, the brothers stood outside of the impressive hotel, weapons in hand and cleansing ritual ready. From what Sam had been able to glean from the history of the place, a young woman had fallen to her death from an eighth story window about 70 years prior. Foul play was suspected at the time, due to the fact that she was about to inherit a fortune – but there was never enough evidence to find the culprit. She was cremated, which left no bones to torch and from the sounds of things, any personal items were burnt along with her. Which meant they had to purify the room she was pushed from.

'C'mon Sammy, lets waste this sucker,' Dean grunted, stepping aside to give Sam access to the lock. They were inside seconds later, Lucifer trailing behind them, whistling a jaunty tune.

Sam's last coffee had given him a fifth wind, but now that he'd come down from his caffeine high, he was starting to wish he'd stayed behind. The main foyer tilted alarmingly around him and it took all of his physical strength to put one foot in front of the other without falling over. His head was pounding and he'd already swallowed back his lunch more times than he was happy with. He didn't want to give Dean a reason to bench him.

'You good, Kiddo?' Dean asked, taking point as they began their ascent up the stairs.

'Peachy,' the younger replied flatly, gripping the banister until his knuckles were white. 'Stop worrying about me and get your head in the hunt.'

'Newsflash Sammy, you're my baby brother. I'll never put the hunt before you. If you can't do this, I'll call Bobby right now to get someone else on it. No biggie.'

Sam didn't respond, but continued the climb; determined to finish the hunt and get back to the motel. Not that there would be any sleeping – but he really needed to lie down.

As they drew nearer the eighth floor, the brothers noted the significant temperature drop and remained silent. Sam had lost his chance to bail, and he held his gun at the ready with shaking hands.

The corridor was dark and silent – but Dean knew instinctively that it wasn't a peaceful silence. This was the calm before the storm and when the pair approached the room in question, a heavy table, complete with flowers and vase, flew past the brothers and shattered as it hit the stairwell.

Warning one.

'She's powerful.' Sam pointed out as he pushed the door to room 812 open.

'No shit.' Dean muttered, firing his shotgun as the woman flickered momentarily into existence. 'You take the east and south walls while I cover you. Then we swap. Deal?'

No sooner had the words left his mouth, Sam was airborne, slamming bodily into a timber cabinet with a grunt.

'SAMMY!' Dean bellowed, pumping the sawn-off and sending a spray of rock salt into the misty apparition.

Meanwhile, the younger Winchester was trying to find his feet, blinking away the greyness that was swarming at the edge of his vision. Stumbling like a newborn colt on too-long legs, Sam jabbed his elbow into the drywall several times to create a hole, and stuffed the cleansing pouch home.

One down, three to go.

Then he was weightless again, slamming back first into the ceiling – pinned and helpless, staring down at the spirit.

God, she was messed up.

The once beautiful woman had a chunk missing from her skull and as her head lolled to peer up at her trapped prey, vertebrae from her broken neck slid through the flesh of her throat.

Taking advantage of her distraction, despite his instincts to help his brother, Dean continued the cleansing – his gaze shifting periodically towards Sam, who seemed to engaged in an intense stare-off with the dead chick.

Then, unexpectedly - the spirit spoke.

' _You got a bit of the Devil in you,'_ she hissed, the words turning Dean's blood to ice.

Sam swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. Concussed, definitely – though he didn't know how badly.

' _He won't let you sleep.'_

Not only was this spirit as powerful as hell, she was _intelligent._

There was a beat of stillness, Dean poised to shove the last pouch into the wall – slightly distracted by the way the ghost was eyeing his baby brother like a hungry shark, then;

' _Let's find out if he'll let you_ _ **die**_.'

Dean's stomach plummeted and he fumbled the pouch, dropping it as Sam sailed out of what was left of the window.

'SAM!' The elder roared, his throat tight as he jammed the last bag into the wall with trembling fingers.

There was a flash of blinding light and Dean was out the door before it dissipated, leaping down the stairs two at a time.

 _God, Sammy…please be alive…_

* * *

 _TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW – I'm just borrowing the boys for a playdate. I'll put them back, I swear…

 **Genre:** Hurt/Comfort & Horror

 **Rated:** T+

 **Timeline:** No set timeline, slot it in anywhere before Bobby's death – possibly S7

 **Features Hurt/Limp/Traumatised Sam, Protective/Worried/Scared Dean and Gruff/Loveable Bobby.**

* * *

 **No Rest for the Wicked**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **HOTEL ALEX JOHNSON**

 _ **Rapid City, South Dakota**_

 **Day Two, Midnight**

Sam was pretty sure he should be dead.

Laying on the pavement, he stared up in disbelief at the window he had just flown through and wondered how the _hell_ he was still breathing.

It certainly _hurt_ like he had just fallen eight stories.

Grunting, he tried to sit – but fire tore down his left side and a ragged scream clawed its way from his throat.

Okay, so hurt was a vast understatement. If he wasn't dead, he should _at least_ be unconscious from the blazing agony that was making itself known after the shock of the fall…but his brain just refused to shut down.

'SAM!'

His brother's frantic voice cut through the pain and he found himself focussing on the sound of hurried footsteps, knowing that they would bring safety and comfort.

Calloused palms framed his jaw, an errant thumb scraping his cheek and his lids fluttered apart, eyes meeting the intense green of his brothers.

'D-De…' he managed weakly, noting the terrified furrow of the elder's brow. It meant that, while he wasn't dead – things were still bad.

'Jesus _Christ_ kiddo, bitch sure did a number on you,' he commented, voice trembling as he brushed the hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

'I-I flew…' Sam replied stupidly, not quite sure where that little gem came from.

Dean snorted, although there was no humour behind it. His kid brother was a mess.

'Yeah, nice trick there Evel Knievel – would've been so much _cooler_ if you'd landed on your feet.'

'H-hurts…'

'Yeah, looks like. Think you can stand for me, buddy?' He asked doubtfully, wondering if he should just call an ambulance.

'I can t-try,' Sam stammered, just as uncertain. 'Just g-give me five, so I can figure out what's working,'

Dean hesitated, but gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder carefully. 'Sure thing Sammy, lemme know when ya ready.'

Dean's voice was soft and gentle, the kind of tone reserved for when things were _really_ bad. Sam swallowed the urge to throw up as he began the assessment.

He gave his toes an experimental wiggle. _Check._ Not paralysed then.

Right leg? He shifted it – a mild twinge in the muscle, so check that.

It was when he got to his left leg, that he completely forgot what he was doing. He had barely tensed his muscles when agony speared his calf, sending his vision white. Blood spurted from an unseen wound, seeping into his jeans and he threw up weakly, bile resting in the back of his throat as he gagged.

'Whoa, whoa. Easy tiger. Self-assessment over, I'm getting you outta here.' Dean said firmly, turning his brother's head to clear his airway.

Crouching behind the younger man, Dean hooked his arms under Sam's and dragged him upright, the subsequent scream of pain entering his heart like a thousand knives.

'I gotcha Sammy, you can pass out anytime now.'

The kid threw up again, splattering his shirt with bile. 'C-can't. Won't l-let me _sleep._ ' He managed breathlessly.

'Sonuva…you see him?' Dean grunted, taking all of Sam's weight as they hobbled to the car.

'D-don't see him. Doesn't mean...he's not hanging around.'

Dean swore. The kid was in agony – he couldn't sleep and whatever crap that was knocking around his ginormous brain was preventing him from passing out.

Forget that, as much as Dean was thankful the kid was breathing, the fall _should_ have killed him.

'Alright, front or back?' He asked as the approached the car, juggling younger brother and keys.

'F-front,' was the strained reply.

Still holding his brother upright, Dean unlocked the car and pulled the door open, easing Sam's lanky frame into the seat gently.

He had one of two options. Go back to the motel and try to patch his sleep deprived brother up, sans super-strength painkillers, or risk Sam bleeding out during the four and a half hour trip back to Bobby's.

It was a lose-lose situation and Dean suddenly had no idea how to function. Hesitating for a second, he pulled out his phone and dialled Bobby.

' _What' did you two idjits do now,'_ was Bobby's greeting.

'Sam's hurt bad, and I need help patching him up.' Dean replied shakily, watching his brother grow paler as he started the car.

' _Balls. What in the hell happened?'_ The senior hunter asked.

'Psycho ghost-bitch sent Sammy flyin' out an eight story window is what happened.'

There was silence, then; ' _He survived?'_

'Oh yeah, but it ain't pretty. Kid hasn't slept in over 24 hours and the hell-o-vision he's had playing since Cas broke the wall is stopping him from passin' out.'

' _Aww damnit. You get your scrawny asses back here, pronto – I'll call around, get some of the good stuff. We'll get him right boy, don't worry. He'll be sleeping like a baby in no time.'_

Tossing his phone over his shoulder, he pressed his foot on the gas and wondered how much time he could shave off the trip without alerting the police.

As he tore out onto the main street, he realised he didn't care and drove like a bat out of hell toward Sioux Falls.

* * *

As it turned out, Dean managed to get back to Bobby's just three hours later. Sam's condition was worsening and his hands ached from gripping the wheel so tightly at the sound of his pained gasps. He'd thrown up a couple of times, but he was so delirious from pain that Dean didn't bother admonishing him.

 _Fuck the upholstery._

He stopped the car in a spray of dirt and pebbles as close the front porch as he could and left the engine running as he rushed to the passenger side to retrieve his brother.

'BOBBY!' He hollered, opening the door and gripping a quaking Sam tightly.

'D-De… _fuck_ ,' the younger hunter managed before throwing up again.

'Easy kiddo, I gotcha. BOBBY!'

'I'm here boy, don't get your panties in a knot...' his voice softened as he took a good look at Sam in the pale porch light.

Blood coated the left side of his face and his hips didn't look 100% right either. God knows what else was hiding beneath his clothes.

'You gonna stand there and stare or ya gonna help?' Dean snapped, dragging his brother slowly from the seat. Sam screamed again and Dean would've dropped him if not for Bobby.

'Be careful there, looks like his hip is dislocated.'

The elder brother swallowed passed the lump in his throat as the scream became hoarse and Sam's head fell forward onto his chest.

For a moment, Dean thought they had caught a break and Sam had finally passed out – but at second glance, he could see his brother blinking rapidly, deep pain lines marring his frown.

'Ready Sammy? Bobby and I are gonna lift you up and get ya heavy ass inside.'

Sam nodded weakly, allowing the pair to drape his arms around their shoulders as they stood either side of him. He felt two different hands reach beneath him, resting on the underside of his knees and he took a deep breath, preparing for the pain.

'On my count,' Bobby began gruffly. 'One…Two… _Three!'_

As they lifted him, Sam felt his consciousness splinter. Agony engulfed his body until it was all he was aware of. Memories flashed before his eyes of the unbelievable torture he had endured at Lucifer's hand and screw passing out – he wanted to _die_.

His throat was burning like it was on fire and distantly, he realised he must have been screaming again.

It was continuous, raspy and by the time the elder hunter's got Sam settled on the disinfected kitchen table, Dean's face was wet with tears.

' _Dammit,'_ he growled, swiping them away. Now wasn't the time to turn into a girl. He took a second to look around the kitchen, realising he had never seen it cleaner or more organised in the whole time he knew Bobby Singer. The benches were scrubbed and lined with assorted medical paraphernalia, and the twin sinks where filled with steaming water for cleaning wounds. If Dean wasn't so frantic, he'd probably be impressed.

Sam was still writhing on the table, sweat slicking his long bangs and Dean automatically reached for his hand to offer comfort. 'It's gonna be alright Sammy,' he soothed, meeting Sam's pain-filled gaze with a shaky smile. 'We're gonna get you some good drugs, then we'll patch you up – good as new.'

The kid swallowed convulsively and squeezed his eyes shut. 'D-Dea…please… _please_ …make it _stop._ ' He begged weakly, tears sliding down his cheek to mingle with sweat.

Bobby appeared by his side, clutching a syringe and an alcohol swab, ready to administer the morphine – when Dean took it from him.

Once the elder brother found a viable vein, he gently swabbed the fleshy area on the inside of his elbow and slipped the needle into his flesh.

Sam held his breath, watching Dean with wide eyes as he eased the plunger down.

'Give it a sec, buddy,' He murmured gently, his free hand carding through his brother's damp hair.

The kid exhaled slowly, the lines of pain smoothing away into nothing as a lazy smile crossed Sam's lips.

 _Well, thank God for small mercies…_

''S betterrr,' Sam slurred as his muscles relaxed and Dean sighed in relief. The easy part was over though, now it was time to start the party.

Shoving his hands into a pair of latex gloves, Dean accepted the steaming wash-cloth from Bobby and began to clean the blood from his sibling's face. He already knew the kid was concussed, but seeing his unequally dilated pupils in the light, Dean forced himself not to panic. More so when he discovered the white of bone, peeking through the five-inch gash on his temple.

' _Fuck_ ,' Dean hissed, pressing the cloth to the wound as blood welled to the surface. It would have to be sutured before anything else happened.

As though Bobby read his mind, he was handed a cloth that smelled strongly of peroxide and a suture kit.

While he busied himself with the task, the older man got to work with a pair of scissors, cutting away clothes that Dean probably would've burned anyway, covered in his brother's blood as it was.

The stitch up barely took five minutes, and Sam didn't even flinch. He just continued to stare at his big brother, finding comfort and safety in the face that he knew so well. Even while floating in his painless delirium, he could read his brother's expression like a book…and through the frown of concentration, he could see the terror in his bright green eyes.

'It's all the same, only the names will change. Every day it seems we're wasting away,' Sam sang softly and Dean faltered, meeting his gaze.

'Another place where the faces are so cold. I'd drive all night just to get you back home,' Dean continued, and the younger man smiled at the slight change in the lyrics.

It was all eldest do not to burst into tears. Even in his state, the kid was trying to comfort _him_ – and it cut him to the core.

'I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, I'm wanted dead or alive. Wanted dead or alive…' they sang together.

A gruff _'balls,'_ pulled the brothers from the rare moment of softness and Dean peered down Sam's near naked body. He turned his head away and threw up on the floor.

 _Oh boy…_ Dean thought grimly as he wiped his mouth and met Bobby's downright _terrified_ gaze. Sam's left side sustained the worst of the injuries and he had never seen his brother in such a state. No wonder the kid screamed the place down. His torso was a mass of black and dark purple – bruising so dark that there was no doubt Dean's mind that his brother had sustained internal injuries. There was blood too, from multiple lacerations down his side, probably from his brief introduction to the solid timber cabinet back at the hotel. Further down, he saw the odd lay of his hips, confirming Bobby's earlier diagnosis of dislocation. To top it all off, his leg was clearly broken – bone poking through flesh and revealing the muscle and meat of Sam's calf.

'We can't fix him,' Bobby muttered. 'Not on our own. He needs surgery, but if we take him to the hospital – there's gonna be questions as to _why_ hospital grade anaesthesia won't knock him out.'

Dean turned back to his brother's face, noting that Sam's gaze had shifted from him, to something unseen in the corner of the room.

Oh great, the last thing Sam needed right now was Lucifer showing up regaling him with the worst hits of Monty Python.

'What do you suggest?' Dean snapped, immediately regretting his tone.

Bobby ignored it. He knew the kid was hurtin' for his brother – but he _did_ have a plan.

'I got a buddy in the loop – a field surgeon. Just finished a tour in Afghanistan. Patched up soldiers good as new when things looked grim. I'll give her a call, see if she can swing by.'

Dean nodded without hesitation. If Bobby trusted this chick, he could deal.

The older man left the room and Dean pulled a chair close to the table.

'Ya with me kiddo? You're gonna be just fine – ya hear?'

Sam turned his head towards his voice, his eyes still glued to the empty corner of the kitchen.

'If h-he doesn't s-shut his fucking mouth soon…I'm going to end him,' was Sam's fierce response.

 _Atta-boy Sammy._

* * *

' _Some things in life are bad  
They can really make you mad  
Other things just make you swear and curse  
When you're chewing on life's gristle  
Don't grumble, give a whistle  
And this'll help things turn out for the best...  
And..._

 _...always look on the bright side  
of life...'_

Floating on a high of morphine, Sam was finding it more and more difficult to tune him out. His vision kept flickering from Bobby's kitchen to the time he spent with Lucifer in The Cage, but he was still capable of separating reality and hallucination. God dammit, he was tired though.

At a guess, he'd been awake for thirty hours and couldn't do jack shit about it. Dean was by his side for the most part, offering comfort and an anchor to what was real. He had been told several hours ago, that someone was coming by to help with the patch up, so he guessed things were pretty bad – though he didn't comment on it. He needed to stay strong for his brother.

It was after eight, when the field surgeon arrived in a beat up four-by-four, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun and eyes serious, she greeted Bobby with a one armed hug and shook Dean's hand firmly. She was attractive and the elder Winchester may have hit on her if the situation weren't so dire.

She didn't waste any time. She entered the kitchen without preamble and moved towards Sam.

'Hey there.' She greeted with a soft smile. 'I'm Lorraine, how ya holdin' up?'

Sam returned the smile, and shrugged. 'I was thrown from an eight story window by a pissed off spirit and my hallucination of Lucifer is going through the entire Monty Python soundtrack so I can't sleep…or pass out. I'm fantastic.' He replied casually.

He took it as a sign that she knew _a lot_ of what was really going on, when her smile widened.

'Meaning of Life or Holy Grail?'

Dean snorted from the door. She certainly had a good bedside manner.

'Holy Grail,'

Lorraine chuckled and gave his shoulder a squeeze, before beginning her examination.

Running cool fingers down the length of his torso, she winced in sympathy at the give in his ribs but continued down his injured body before offering any advice.

'Looks like he's got at least four ribs broken, although luckily none of the shards have pierced his lung. He may have a kidney bleed, so the bad news is, I will have to go in and check it out. Obviously, his leg is broken – so I'll set that first and stitch it up. I don't think he can deal with two open wounds at once. Even with the morphine – he'll feel it. '

Dean nodded, feeling a bit fresher after his earlier shower. 'What about his hip?' He asked, washing his hands and donning another pair of disposable gloves.

There was a pop followed by a pained grunt and Dean's head snapped up at the sound.

'Done,' the surgeon replied. 'How long has it been since his last shot of morphine?'

'About three hours,'

She nodded and pulled an IV bag from her duffle. 'This is a slightly stronger version of morphine – we use it in the field when travel is involved to get he injured party to safety. It'll send him loopy, but after this, he won't be able to have any more painkillers for at least six hours.'

Dean sighed; the thought of Sam being in that much pain without the ability to pass out was terrifying, but for the surgery, it had to be done.

Taking his silence as permission, Lorraine inserted the cannula into the crook of Sam's elbow and hung the bag from a collapsible IV pole.

'Let's get this show on the road then, shall we?' Dean suggested as they set to work.

Everything was going well, until suddenly, it wasn't.

They had set his leg, and Lorraine had just opened him up, when Sam arched off the table and screamed.

'SHIT!' Lorraine swore, extracting her fingers from the wound and pressed down to stop the rush of blood.

'Sam! Sammy, look at me kiddo. _Look at me,'_ Dean insisted firmly, his bloody hands framing his brother's pale and sweaty face.

'L-Lucifer…p-playn' with my insides…' He gasped, squeezing Dean's hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to life.

'Lucy ain't playing with anything. You're safe Sammy, I gotcha – you need to stay still so the pretty doctor can fix you up. Okay?'

Sam relaxed slightly, but his breathing was till ragged.

'Kay,' he managed. 'S-stay with me?'

'I gotta help the doc buddy, but I'll be close – don't worry.'

' _Please,_ ' he begged.

Dean caught Lorraine's eye and she nodded. 'I got this covered. Keep him calm and distracted.'

The surgery took a little over two hours, and by the time Lorraine was finished – all three of them were exhausted.

'S-so tired, Dean.' Sam murmured, his eyes bloodshot.

'Yeah, I know you are brother. You can sleep soon,' Dean assured, resting his palm against a hot cheek.

'Please kill me,'

The elder froze, his heart leaping into his throat at the utter despair in Sam's voice. Tears welled in his eyes as he brushed his thumb along Sam's stubbled jaw.

'Never gonna happen, kid.' Dean said shakily. 'You can't ask that of me.'

'N-need to _sleep._ Need to _get away…_ hurts to much…'

Dean leant down until they were almost nose to nose, foreheads touching.

'You listen to me, _right now_ Sammy. You look at me and you _listen._ I will **not** let anything happen to you. We haven't given up, so you can't either, ya hear? I _will_ fix this, because I can't live if I don't have you by my side. I'm nothing without you, got it? _Nothin'._ So you **fight** dammit. Fight this.'

Tears filled Sam's eyes as Dean pressed his lips to his sodden brow.

'I will,' Sam promised.

* * *

 _TBC_


End file.
